Pain and Pity
by M.A. Ehrenreich
Summary: After Erik released Christine, he is heartbroken. Drowning his sorrows in a shady lounge, he meets Belle- a malnourished, poorly mannered women who possesses a beautiful voice. It is not lust he feels for her, but true compassion. Please Review.
1. A Song of Fame and Glory

It was an average night over at _Scarlett's_, an entertainment lounge that rented it's performers on the side. The club reeked of cheap perfume and it was impossible to forget its true purpose with the flashy, over-done make up popping out of every corner. The audience was the same as every other night- old, rich men who can never be satisfied. All except for one cloaked man who was there to simply forget it all. A man who sat in the corner, averted his eyes from the provocatively dressed women, and just kept drinking. A man who was there for the music. The Phantom of the Opera.

Backstage, the girls were preparing themselves for yet another night onstage. Make up was being applied, bras were stuffed and corsets pulled. And yet, Belle Monreau did nothing to improve her appearance. She did not even attempt t make herself seem healthy. She wore her red, unwashed hair down and even went as far as elevating her neckline to cover her breasts. She wore a simple yet pure white dress which differed from the bold, attention-seeking outfits her coworkers wore. She, unlike others, did not want a "bonus". She didn't want to be bought. All she wanted was a shelter, some food, and music.

It was almost her turn- the Walton twin's striptease was almost over. She took a few deep breathes as the crew members set up the stage for her performance. After a few minutes, she sat in front of the piano, her eyes focused and her lips pursed. She quickly chose the note sheet for the song she'd be performing tonight. And suddenly, the curtain raised, a single spotlight was on her, and the crowd tried to comprehend why she was fully clothed. They didn't understand that her performance was based solely on her talent. They'd never know her type of beauty- beauty of modesty, one that glows from within. No, none of them understood her- except for the Phantom.

She glanced at the crowd and her finger pressed the first key. The sound of that first note echoed throughout the shady lounge. And soon, another note followed. And another. Before anyone could understand the relatively innocent nature of her song, the lyrics came.

"And they're all very nice here,

They tell you there words

You now need for someone to say them

How you're such a star, you can never do wrong,

And the new song is simply amazing.

And it's great everything's going so easily

But you'll blink and it'll all disappear

And then someone will say 'it's time to put your dreams away

Let somebody else sing in here'

And it's not real at all

So don't try believing

It's not you, but somebody else.

Smile back, blow them a kiss

You look great when your face is painted.

And it's not important, but don't ever think

That it's dark here, and you're the only one glowing…

You'll end up with a broken mirror

And a long piece of rope

To wrap around your neck as a necklace

Always the same compliments,

And same old restrains

What to sing and what to delete.

In the end it's just you and besides to yourself

You have no one to whom you can scream.

You'll promise that promise

Which you won't really keep

To be the Only One, or to be no one

To shine or to just disappear.

And it's not real at all

So don't try believing

It's not you, but somebody else.

Smile back, blow them a kiss

You look wonderful when your face is painted.

And it's not important, but don't ever think

That it's dark here, and you're the only one glowing…

You'll end up with a broken mirror

And a long piece of rope

To wrap around your neck as a necklace

And they don't even know you, not even close

And they'll never come near understanding

How at the end of a show, the curtain goes down

And, like everyone, it's alone that you're standing.

But there's one person who knows

He'll glance at you, tired.

And tell you and his old cracking voice

How it may be so good

But it's all over soon

And all you be left with

Is a song…"

The crowd was silent. They didn't know how to respond. They wanted a night full of mindless pleasure, of sexual displays and light kisses. Instead they got a deep, heavy song about fame and glory. Without applause to reward her heavenly voice, she went offstage. She didn't hear the man in the far back corner, honoring her with a single clap. She didn't know what power her words held over him.

After the show, the mysterious man praised Scarlett, the manager of the lounge. He inquired about the girl, the one with the soft yet malicious melody.

"Belle?" The women asked in her course voice. The Phantom held back a cringe. "You want _her_?" She said, incredulous. "I can't believe it…" she mumbled to herself. "All these years.. good for nothing… and now… him! _He_ wants _her_!... look at how well dressed… he must have big bucks…" Finally, she came to her senses.

"Right this way, monsieur." She said, flashing her crooked, yellow teeth. She took him to a dressing room.

"That'll be 20 Francs for a night." She said, holding out her hand. The Phantom was surprised, but handed her the money. He knew or the cruelty of this world- no heartless human could surprise him anymore. Scarlett let him into the room, and Belle's response was astonishing. As soon as she realized what was being done, she started yelling.

"No!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. "I will not have it! I can't just be bought like I'm some kind of animal! You can't make me. No amount in the world will make go home with him tonight!" She yelled at Scarlett. As if remembering the Phantoms presence, she abruptly turned to him.

"And you! How dare you come prancing around with your money and your suits and your fine horses and take advantage of the less fortunate? Not all of us were born with a roof over our heads and enough food to feed seventeen pigs, but at least we have morals! You come here, masking your face in shame of your actions, yet you still buy me. You try to convince yourself that it's alright if you pay me, but it's not! It's still rape!" She yelled, pointing her finger as his chest as her face turned red to match her silky hair.

The Phantom stayed annoyingly calm throughout her whole outburst. Finally, he gave Scarlett another five Francs and easily dragged Belle out.

Out of the lounge, carrying her while she struggled, the Phantom had a change to truly take her in. She was malnourished and poorly fed- her skin was pale, but it didn't radiate that healthy vibe that higher class women had. Her features were a blend of aristocratic French and English, which was quite a surprise seeing her line of work. She was neither short nor tall, but unnaturally slim. Her hair was a striking shade of red, contrasting her bright green eyes. Even as she struggled, she was weak- far too weak for a women.

"I demand you put me down, you filthy bastard!" She yelled. Even as her voice twisted with rage, it was majestic.

He put her down, but grabbed her wrist to restraint her. "I will not harm you." The Phantom said gently.

"Oh, but you will. Sure, you'll think you're pleasing me. I'll even pretend to enjoy it, just for the money. But we both know how this will end. And I want to stop that right here. I am not going anywhere near a bed tonight." She said her voice strong. For a girl so weak, she sure had spirit.

The Phantom gave up on trying explaining his intensions. Instead, he dragged her to one of the entrances to his lair.

"Belle, my heart has been shattered. I bought you for the company and for your voice, but not your body. I will not force myself upon you, but I guess only time will prove me right."


	2. A Street Girl's Nightmare

**Unfotunately, when I updated the edited version of the first chapter, my author's note was deletes. The lyrics of the song in the previous chapter were written by me, but they go to the tune of:**

**אל תאמיני-איה כורם**

**She's a very successful Israeli artist and feel free to look her up. Also, this chapter is very short but a bit fast paced, so in my mind it evens out.**

**enter standard disclaimer crap here**

**Finally, please review. I don't care whether you're logged in or not, or even if you have an account. If you went through the trouble of reading, why not review? I love haters. They make me a better person.**

**-M.A.E**

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><p>A Boat. In a Lake. Under an Opera House. Of all places, that's where he took me.<p>

"This place is hardy adequate for a lady" I sneered sarcastically. He just gave me one of his superior grins, which are more of a threat than a gesture of amusement.

We reached his lair after a few minutes. It was dark and gothic, and had a rather unholy vibe to it. It was hard to miss the fact that most everything was broken. The place seemed as though it had been ransacked- but it looked oddly familiar.

"Nice home." I commented dully. His face hardened- no more were the traces of sarcasm in his face. It was pure loathing in despair. "This place" He said, his tone uneven as he gestured to the room "will _never_ be a home. It is a prison. "

As I registered the organ, I realized why the place was so familiar and gasped in shock. Of course! The Phantom! Oh, the news spread all over Paris. The picture of this exact place was on the paper. This beast built his home under the Opera house. However, he was rumored to have escaped the catacombs. Why was he here? Most importantly, why was _I_ here? I am to be his next victim?

Frightened by the thought, I jumped out of the Gondola before he finished docking. With a swift movement, I grabbed my dagger from under my cloak.

"You do not frighten me, Phantom!" I said, the lie overwhelmingly stronger than my original words.

"Why should I? Have I hurt you so far?" He said sadness and anger mixing in his strange eyes, glistening under his evenly colored mask.

"You are the Phantom of the Opera, no less. My goodness, you've killed dozens!" I said, convincing myself he is, indeed, a threat.

"And yet I stand before you, entirely mortal. How could I possibly be this mythical ghost?" He reasoned. For a second, I thought I detected remorse through his eyes; it was probably just a twitch.

"How do I know that? You wear the mask! For all I know, your immortal face could be hiding beneath." I said, shaking with determination. However, despite my strongest efforts, my hold of the dagger loosened.

The exposed part of his face now twisted with pure, undeniable fury. His wrathful eyes glared at me though the slits of his mask. He was, to put it bluntly, enraged. "Fine!" He shouted. "Get your look at the freak! Gasp in horror at my distorted face! It doesn't matter if I can't stand it! No, I do not matter but a thing to anyone. Who cares? As long as you get your share of entertainment and pleasure, it doesn't matter what happen to the monster! He'll stay in the shadows, as always." He ranted, his whole body shaking as he engulfed himself in his untouchable, unreachable aura of outrage.

"Is this what you wanted to see?" The Phantom yelled, tearing off his mask to reveal his demented face. "Are you happy now?" he spewed bitterly, his voice lowering.

I didn't gasp at his words or at his sight. I stood there. He revealed his uneven eyes, deformed lips, and generally gashed face. It wasn't all that gruesome, rather than a huge, uneven patch of scar tissue. His nose dragged out a bit further than necessary and his eye socket was pulled down. It was not the distortion that scared me- it was rather average, considering the sights I've seen. No, it was definitely not the abnormality that scared me. It was his manner, his impassioned behavior that caused me to go into such shock. How could such a proper, collected man at one moment turn into such an emotional barbarian the next?

"I demand you stop yelling at me." I told him firmly. "I do not appreciate being scolded by strangers". That caused him to calm down for a bit.

"Excuse me, where are my manners?" He said maliciously. "Would you like to review my appearance now? How about that deformation, huh? I am rather curious as to why you aren't screaming for help just yet. Perhaps the shock hasn't worn off. Would you like some water?" He asked, mocking my 'ladylike delicateness'.

I waved my hand casually. "You overestimate yourself. There are far worse than you. Please, I don't think that one small disfigurement could really shake a street girl like me." I said, laughing off my discomfort.

He took a deep breath and put his half-mask back into place. When he looked back up, it was as if he was a whole new man- correction, boy. His starred at me with awed puppy dog eyes.

"Really?" He whispered. "Truly." I replied reassuringly.


	3. A Triumph Out of Poverty

**A/N: the song in here is Broken, an original Laura Jean Online, who can be found on YouTube or MySpace. She's a very talented, upcoming artist, now also available on iTunes. If you like POTO, you'll like her. Please, check her out. She's worth it. I even went through the pain of typing up the lyrics to prove it.**

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><p><em>"Really?" He asked. "Truly" I replied reassuringly.<em>

I reached to stroke the disfigured side of his face. At my touch, his eyes became unfocused. He tensed, standing completely still as he gazed over my head at nothing in particular.

"Take her! Forget me.  
>Forget all of this.<br>Leave me alone.  
>Forget all you've seen.<br>Go now!  
>Don't let them find you.<br>Take the boat. Leave me here, go now don't wait.

Just take her and go before it's too late... Go... go now and leave me!" He sang dramatically, grabbing the nearest object- a small sculpture- and threw it as though it was a lightweight projectile. It crashed onto the wall and the pieces hit the lake, where they slowly sunk.

I seemed to have triggered some sort of mental fit. He started throwing around whatever he could get his hands on, aiming at nothing in particular. His body seemed to pull him, while his face stayed straight- though under those frozen muscles the undertone of agony was obvious. I thought of yelling, but soon realized that no one would hear me in his sadistic cave. I crawled under a small table and watched as he grasped random objects and one by one tore them apart.

After a few minutes of this, he collapsed. He was down on his knees and finally his solemn expression was broken. He started sobbing, curling up in a ball. He muttered a few simple notes over and over as he cried himself to sleep.

"Masquerade  
>Paper faces on parade.<br>Masquerade  
>Hide your face<br>So the world will never find you." He whispered. Finally, he was asleep.

I thought of escaping the madman's house, but soon realized I'd probably find myself in one of his traps. Instead, I found a bed and slept in it, avoiding thoughts of tomorrow's discomfort. Luckily, I didn't need to.

I woke up in my dorm back at Scarlett's. I was wearing the same clothes and it was, indeed, morning. Nothing seemed different- absolutely no sign to indicate the previous night's events.

I got dressed and walked to a nearby bakery, where I bought a loaf of bread. I sliced it to seven pieces, one for each day of the week, and ate the first. Then, I returned to the dormitories to find a rather mysterious note.

_A life of poverty won't do. You deserve something a bit more substantial._

Attached were twenty francs. The note wasn't signed- it was written in childlike handwriting. However, the stamp was interesting- red wax molded into a skull shape, not something typical to see from someone who can afford to give away twenty francs. I immediately suspected the Phantom- but why would such monster spare me his money?

Which brought me back to my main debate- had I dreamt up the whole scene? Did we ever actually meet, or was it all a trick of the mind? How had I gotten back above ground, so safe and sound?

Shrugging off those thoughts, I dressed for my performance. I wore a blue dress, a rather conservative one at that. It covered all of my cleavage, almost reaching my neck. Over it, I placed my small, heart shaped pendant. Made of pure gold, it was my only valuable position- entirely irreplaceable, of course. It's worth probably half as much as it's sentimental value- but that's one story that I refuse to tell. I was never one of those bratty, loquacious girls- the kind whose life story you know after ten minutes. I feel like the more you keep to yourself, of greater value it becomes. Yes, I've always known that the money lies within the mystery. There's a reason they call me the Mona Lisa.

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><p>"Broken promises, broken dreams,<p>

Broken up over what it means.

Broken friendships, broken hearts,

Broken down, no where to start over again.

And I try not to cry

'Cause I don't want to feel the pain anymore

It's driving me insane

I'm broken, I'm broken again,

And you don't even care,

I'm broken, I'm broken again,

And you'll never be there-

I'm broken, I'm losing,

When will this ever end?

I'm breaking down over again…

I'm broken, ohhhh…

I'm broken, ohhhh…

Broken toys don't mean a thing,

Broken bones don't heal again, woahh,

Broken hearts will repair

But I know you won't be there.

We're never gonna be the same.

And I try not to cry

'Cause I don't want to feel the pain

Anymore

It's driving me insane

I'm broken, I'm broken again,

And you don't even care,

I'm broken, I'm broken again,

And you'll never be there-

I'm broken, I'm losing,

When will this ever end?

I'm breaking down over again…

I'm broken, ohhhh…

I'm broken, ohhhh…

I've broken you,

You've broken me-

And now we're damaged beyond repair!

(some lines that I can't decipher no matter how many times I listen to the song- sorry!)

Will we ever see eye to eye?

I'm broken, I'm broken again,

And you don't even care,

I'm broken, I'm broken again,

And you'll never be there-

I'm broken, I'm losing,

When will this ever end?

I'm breaking down over again…

We're broken, We're broken…

I'm broken, I'm broken…

I'm broken, I'm losing,

When will this story end?

I'm breaking down over again…

I'm broken, woahh….

I'm broken, woah….

I'm broken, woahhh…"

Yes, it was another night of flashy, short gowns, of painted nails lustfully stroking proud chests, another night of deceiving the lounge. I was famous- or, rather, infamous- for my lack of interest in these unworthy men. Yet, the shocker was that I wouldn't complain. No, I was the neutral singer, the everlasting mystery. My expression, as unchanging as the sea, would baffle these costumers as they tried to unravel my past, to solve my mysteries. That's the funny thing about puzzles and elaborate tales- you don't know if they're worth solving until they are, indeed, solved. Some things are better left unsaid, some stories untouched. But, I remember my oath that very night as I returned to my cramped dorm and discovered the rose.

The minute I walked into my dormitory I noticed the rose. Oh, it wasn't any rose. This rose was as red as the blood of a warrior, as passionate as a forbidden love. It blazed with color, shouting "notice me!" over the other, worthless daisies lying on my bed. Around its stem, a silky black ribbon was tied in a perfect bow. And the note- with the very same handwriting, no less!- which was so kind and thoughtful, yet so sincere. _To your great triumph! _It read, as if it did not matter that I sang in a whorehouse. As if I was graceful, honorable, or talented. As if my song was worthy of the term 'triumph'. Yes, as I saw that violently, passionately _red_ rose, I swore to myself that I would unfold the mystery of their source. Back then, I didn't know that by making such an oath I'd be forever binding myself to the Phantom.


End file.
